


Out of Line

by orphan_account



Series: Fill the Void [49]
Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Angst, Fake AH Crew, Heavy Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Slut Shaming, Sort Of, ryan's a bit of a dick
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-02
Updated: 2020-05-02
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:53:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23965690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: When Gavin is stuck in a stressful situation, he likes to sit down, sometimes at a height advantage so he can consider his options.When Ryan is stressed, he's on the edge of a fight, looking to snap and snarl at anything that pisses him off.This is one of those moments.
Relationships: Jeremy Dooley/Gavin Free/Ryan Haywood/Michael Jones/Jack Pattillo/Geoff Ramsey
Series: Fill the Void [49]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1663750
Comments: 3
Kudos: 44





	Out of Line

It’s bad.

Gavin doesn’t know how it got this bad, but it did.

Maybe it was from all the stress of planning for this heist, realizing that there’s now fierce competition out in the city coming after the Fakes and testing their mettle, questioning their reputation as damn royalty here in this city.

The heist went wrong. They usually do, but not to this extent. Not when the six of them are spread across the city, limited means of communication, wondering if they actually need to pull out of the city entirely until things cool down.

Gavin’s sat on a tarp covered pile of crab pots. He and Ryan are hiding out along the bay. There’s a fairly strong breeze blowing in from the water, and Gavin’s shirt is a bit too thin. It cuts to his skin easily. He shivers, wishes Michael were here. He’d bitch and complain but he’d hand over his jacket regardless. Jeremy would probably offer up his own suit jacket, but Gavin had fallen out of love with the purple colours recently.

He could ask Ryan for his jacket, but the way the other man paces ceaselessly keeps him sat on the pots—keeps him _quiet,_ because even though they’ve warmed up to Ryan, to him being an integral part to the crew (never mind the relationship), this _isn’t_ Ryan. This is the Vagabond. Restless, pacing like a caged animal, waiting for the word to strike. He’s holding the damn mask in his hand. His paint has been streaked from the light rain, black running down his face, hair escaping his tie and framing his face delicately. That’s the only delicate part of him, Gavin thinks. His hair. Still golden, still soft, still wispy. In contrast to his callous roughened hands, the hard planes of his body, his fire scarred legs. It’s such a contrasting image to have hair like a halo and the body of a weary soldier.

“Ryan,” he says, because he _hates_ this waiting game. He hates how nervous Ryan is making him feel. And he _hates_ how scared he feels just by opening his mouth. It shouldn’t be this way between them. He should be able to trust Ryan.

But then again. This isn’t Ryan.

“Rye,” he says again. This at least gets the other man to turn and face him. “Can you, like …” He shrugs. “Sit down at least? Take a little breather?” He doesn’t know what to say here. For all his effort, he doesn’t know what to say to Ryan when he’s like this. Jeremy usually does. And Jack, but that’s Jack. She always knows what to say, even if it comes down to _“Ryan, get your head out of your fucking ass and get your boots on the line.”_ Yeah, he misses them right about now.

“What, is my pacing bothering you?” Ryan’s being a confrontational shit right now, and that’s not what Gavin needs. Gavin needs something softer, needs some reassurance that the world isn’t going to end right now, but clearly that’s not what he’s going to get from Ryan right now.

“Ryan,” Gavin says, wearily. “Please. Just. Stop moving for a bit. You can’t keep going.”

“If I don’t, then we’re _dead,_ ” he says, like he’s speaking to a child.

Gavin rolls his eyes. “You don’t need to patronize me, y’know? I get it. You’re on edge. But just … you’re freaking me out, ’kay?”

“What do you want me to say here, Gavin?” Ryan says and then he’s striding up to Gavin, walking like the predator he is, limbs loose yet speaking of power. “That we can just wait this out? Let this all blow over and hold hands and skip into the fucking sunset? Because let me tell you that this is the situation we’re in right now. There’s no getting out of it like it’s simple. So _no._ I can’t sit down because I’m the only one trying to figure out how to get us out of this situation and not fucking die. Get it?”

“And I get that,” Gavin says. “I _really_ do. But guess what? We’re out on the fucking pier. Trevor would’ve called us if we needed to leave. It’s not all on you to figure everything out. So can you just relax? _Jesus._ ”

But that happens to set Ryan off further, and Gavin doesn’t know where _any_ of this is coming from.

“Oh, well, I’m _sorry_ I can’t just sit back all the time and let everyone else around me do all the hard work. I’m _sorry_ that I have nothing else to contribute to planning except maybe to feel up a potential target in an airport bathroom. I’m _sorry_ that every time I get into a sticky situation that I have to have one of my partners always bail me out.”

Gavin feels like he’s been struck across the face. Ryan might as well have. It’s the safe effect. “You are _way_ out of fucking line,” he says, getting to his feet. “You know damn well that I do more than whatever you think I do. Where did you get it in your thick, fucking skull that I just sleep around with people for the sake of a fucking heist? You honestly think I’m that fucking sex crazed to just do that? That that’s the only thing I do for this group? This relationship? Guess what, tough guy, I _love_ sex. And that’s not a bad thing. It’s not like I’m going around feeling up every prospective target. Yeah, I have fun with them because they’re fucking idiots, like you are apparently, because guess what! I have five amazing partners willing to give me whatever I need! What the fuck is up with you?”

Ryan has shrunken back a bit, but Gavin is far from done.

“And I don’t mean right now, I mean in general,” he continues. “You look at me like I’m hiding something. Which I find incredibly rude because you’ve known me just as long as all the others, and yet I’m still a fucking outsider to you?” He laughs a bit wetly, ignores the way his eyes feel wet. “What kind of shit is that? I mean, what else do I have to do to show you that I’m just as considerate as all the others?” He rubs at his face a bit harshly, sniffs. “Fuck you, Ryan. Honestly.”

He feels like he’s run a marathon. He’s fucking exhausted. He wants nothing more than to just sleep away this awful fucking day, but he _can’t_ because he’s waiting for Trevor to send a car to them to take them to some sort of safe house probably.

Ryan sits at least. He slumps down against the wall of the storage building their in and simply sits. He says a quiet, “I’m sorry,” to which Gavin does not reply. Simply files it away for later if he ever even wants to forgive Ryan. If he even can that is.

They get the call some time later. A car arrives for them. The driver slips away and Ryan slips in. Gavin elects to sit in the backseat, curled up on his side so he can at least get a little sleep. He wakes to Michael looking over him from the open door.

“C’mon,” Michael says. “Let’s get you inside.”

“Mikey-boi,” he coos, still half asleep, still not quite aware of what’s happening around him. Like a dream.

He wishes this all were a dream.

Their safe house is a log cabin out in the wilderness somewhere. They won’t be leaving this place for a while then. This is usually known as the long haul safe house. Gavin won’t be seeing Los Santos for quite some time.

He sleeps deeply that night, hardly concerns himself with Ryan’s whereabouts. He only asks once where he is. Jeremy says he went out for an early morning run. That’s Ryan. Always on the move. Always working because he can’t ever stop. Gavin quietly wonders why. He never did figure out why Ryan’s always obsessed with work.

Later, he finds himself out on the deck, wrapped up in a blanket, drinking tea, scrolling through his Instagram feed. All these serene country photos are really popular with his followers. It takes a while for him to notice Ryan standing at the far end in the corner, quietly watching him.

“I wanted to say I’m sorry for the other night,” he says. “I didn’t mean what I said.”

“No,” Gavin says. “You meant _exactly_ what you said otherwise you wouldn’t have said it. Because somewhere deep inside of you, a part of you believes what you said about me. That I’m nothing more to this group than just a pretty face that likes to _lie back and think of England._ ” He snorts and shakes his head. “You don’t just say that kind of shit to people you supposedly love.” He moves to stand, plans on just walking about, he guesses, until Geoff has something before for him to do.

“Is there anything I can do?” Ryan asks.

And Gavin knows Ryan wants to make amends, to patch up their shoddy relationship, but Gavin knows they’re on unsteady ground as it is. Whatever Ryan has to say won’t fix anything.

“I don’t know, Rye, I just don’t know.” So he turns and walks away.

He finds Michael instead, curls up against him, and Michael immediately turns on that careful tone of concern. 

“What’s wrong?” he says.

“What would you do if you found out one of us didn’t really like one of the others? But they liked all the others in the group. Just not one person in particular?”

Michael shrugs at first. “I dunno. Yell at them I guess? Is this about … Ryan?”

Gavin looks up to him.

“Yeah, I can tell a bit,” Michael says. “He’s in a mood and you’re in a mood, so. Two plus two. I can at _least_ do that kind of math.”

It gets a small smile out of Gavin at least.

“Want me to give him the old shovel talk?” Michael asks.

But Gavin shakes his head. “I think this issue goes a bit deeper than that.”

At Gavin’s down turned face, Michael presses in close to kiss him, to kiss away the sadness because he knows Gavin loves physical affection. “I’m sorry Ryan was a dick.”

“I am too,” Gavin admits. “He’s a good guy. He is. Just … I don’t know. I think there’s some things he and I need to work out.”

“And if you can’t?”

“Then I guess we’ll have to figure that out when we get there.”


End file.
